


It's The Small Gestures That Say 'I Love You'

by Souliebird



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souliebird/pseuds/Souliebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bless his soul, but Master Timothy is a worse patient than you are and you were never going to read those papers. He is in the guest bedroom down the hall from billards room.” Alfred nodded towards the tray that held the bowl of broth, then removed his apron and promptly left the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Small Gestures That Say 'I Love You'

“Alfred,” Bruce called as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling sharply at the knot in his tie. “Have you seen my briefcase?”

The older gentleman looked up from his task of ladling streaming broth into a bowl in mild confusion. “Sir?”

“My briefcase. It has papers in it Lucius wanted me to read. I could have sworn I left it in my study.”

Alfred hummed, then returned to his task. “It is on the in table in the foyer along with your coat. I’m to assume you did not read the papers?”

Bruce shrugged then stepped more into the kitchen, going to stand on the opposite side of the counter from his dearest friend. “I was going to do it in the car. Why are you making soup this early?”

“Chicken soup in the traditional meal to serve someone who is feeling ill but Master Tim has stated he is not up to the task of chewing, so I have condensed it into a broth.” Alfred stated as he moved the giant pot back to the stove and put a lid on it. 

“Tim is here?” Bruce asked in surprise. He hadn’t seen the young man in days, and then it had been behind cowls and capes.

“Yes, he is. It is almost like you are a detective, sir.” Bruce rose his brows at the comment while Alfred continued. “He has caught the flu and worries that if Master Dick finds out he will be ‘coddled to death.’ ”

“So he is hiding where no one would suspect him to be?”

“Exactly.” Alfred turned back to Bruce with a knowing smile.

“And you are telling me because…?”

“Bless his soul, but Master Timothy is a worse patient than you are and you were never going to read those papers. He is in the guest bedroom down the hall from billards room.” Alfred nodded towards the tray that held the bowl of broth, then removed his apron and promptly left the kitchen.

“We have a billards room?” Bruce called after Alfred as he picked the tray, knowing he could never fight the suggested order.

As Bruce made his way to where he thought Tim was, because really, they had a billards room, he tried to not worry. He knew Tim was stubborn and that the man behind the Red Robin cowl would not admit he was ill even on his deathbed. For him to willingly admit to it and let Alfred cater to him spoke volumes about how sick Tim must have felt. The concern bubbled up into Bruce's belly; Tim had not been drastically ill since the loss of his spleen. Maybe his body wasn't able to fight something as simple as a common cold anymore and Alfred had stated it was influenza and...Bruce found himself increasing his pace.

The room was not hard to find; it was in an area Bruce knew to get little traffic, and he could hear Tim coughing as soon as he entered the hallway. The wet and pained sound convinced Bruce knocking was not needing and he pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, grateful it hadn't been shut all the way.

Tim was curled up in a small ball in the giant bed, wrapped up in two large blankets, and from what Bruce could see, he was wearing a hoodie as well. The younger man looked miserable; he was pale everywhere but his nose, which was bright red, his dark hair was sticking out at all angles, and his usually bright eyes were glassy and red. Tim took one look at Bruce, then bared his teeth, like he was a cornered animal.

“Alfred is a traitor.” He wheezed out, barley able to talk. All of the tension and fear melted out of Bruce's shoulders; if Tim had enough energy to be scathing, then he wasn't in immediate danger. In all sense, if he had been, Alfred would not have hidden him away in a room Bruce didn't even know existed. Tim must have known his lack of a spleen would cause others to panic and hiding while he examined how his body reacted, but within reach of proper medical care should he need it was the smart thing to do. But Bruce hadn't been thinking logically, he wasn't able to when Tim's health was concerned. 

“You are a difficult patient.” Bruce replied smoothly, no hint of his worry coming through. He closed the door with his foot, then walked slowly to the bedside table to set the tray down. “Are you able to eat?”

“I'm not able to do anything.” If Tim didn't look so absolutely pathetic, Bruce might have thought he was whining, but his arms shook as he pushed himself into sitting and Bruce not only believed him, but pitied him. “I just want to sleep.” 

Bruce moved the tray to Tim's lap and activated it, glad that Alfred had taken technology from the Cave and had implemented it into household items that would need it. The tray had mini repulsion vents in it so it would hover just above Tim's lap, and more importantly, would not rock and send soup everywhere when he undoubtedly coughed. Which he did as soon as Bruce stepped away from the bed.

“Why can't you sleep?” The older man asked, taking up the seat beside the bed after pulling his suit jacket a little closer. The air conditioner was running, in what Bruce knew all too well to be a weird habit of Tim's. Tim often complained of being too cold, but when he got the chance, he would make the rooms he stayed in as cold as the thermostat would allow so he could build a magnificent nest out of blankets. Bruce had woken up freezing one too many times because of it.

“Everything.” Tim waved his hand vaguely before picking up the spoon and stirring the broth. “It hurts and I feel gooey on the inside and Alfred won't give me anymore decongestants because he is a traitor and my mind won't stop spinning. I'm just lying here doing nothing, I have cases to work on, thing to do. I should be at work. You should be at work. Why aren't you at work?” Bruce smirked as Tim brought some broth to his lips and took the tiniest of sips before making a face and dumping the broth back into the bowl. “My eyes hurt. Which makes all of this the worst. I can barely keep them open, can't focus on anything. I can't read to make my mind just...stop.” Tim slumped slightly and glanced to his bedside table.

Bruce followed his gaze, noticing a very beat up looking purple book with a red spine. He had seen the book more than a few times near Tim when he felt unwell, always the same tattered copy. He reached over and plucked the novel from the nightstand, and turned it over in his hands, his scarred thumb running over the gold letters of the spine.

“You always read this when you are sick?” Bruce questioned, even though he knew the answer.

“It's my sick book. It makes me feel better. I don't need medicine, I just need that, but my eyes don't work anymore. I'm destined to be sick forever. You'll have to find someone else to warm your bed on those lonely winter nights.” 

“You don't warm my bed, you sap all the warmth.” Bruce hummed as he opened the love worn book to the title page. “I've never read this before.” 

“You should. It is is good. Illness curing good. Everyone should read it at least once.” Tim mumbled, picking his spoon again, attempting another sip of broth, and not turning it away this time.

“Okay.” Bruce turned to the first page of the first chapter, then cleared his throat. Tim's heard jerked up and he stared at the much older man for a moment in shock before the expression relaxed and a small smile formed on his lips and his glassy red eyes softened. He turned back to his broth and and inhaled the aroma deeply as Bruce began to read.

“'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.'”


End file.
